Sherlock's Collection Of Fairy Tales
by Dante Pierre
Summary: John gets sick and Sherlock ends up telling him his own twisted versions of classic fairy tales.
1. I'b sick

**A/N: Heyy! We've finally got another Sherlock story out! Hope you enjoy, we own nothing by the way. We love reviews, heck we practically throw a party every time we get a review. Sooooooo yah. Also, we're planning on setting up an update time, so if you prefer a certain day of the week for us to update, please tell us in a review. Thanks!**

**-Dante Pierre**

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><p>They had just finished their fourth case and it wasn't even teatime yet. John sniveled. His nose had been running and his throat had been scratchy ever since Sherlock had dragged him out of his warm bed at four in the morning. Normally, that wouldn't have been a problem, but it so happened that John had had a date that kept him up until three in the morning. The lack of sleep plus the fact that is was early spring left John with a nasty cold.<p>

"Sherlock. I'b sick." John announced.

"Obviously." Sherlock answered.

"I'b goig hobe."

"That would be the smartest thing to do."

"You're cobig too."

"No."

"Fine. I'b staying here."

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><p>Thirty-two minutes later, Sherlock was half-carrying John up the stairs to their flat.<p>

"You're a bloody doctor! You should know better!" Sherlock angrily muttered.

"Stubborn." John replied with a small smile that disappeared with a small sneeze. Sherlock smirked, John was actually quite adorable when he was sick. Sherlock finally managed to get all of John's limbs in his bed after quite a frightful struggle. John was weak as a kitten and gravity was a pain in the arse. John watched Sherlock walk out and closed his eyes, trying to sleep. It didn't work. Seven minutes later John gave up.

"Sherlock!" He called out the best he could, which wasn't very loud. John had just accepted that his flatmate had left him alone in his time of need, when the Holmes in question appeared in the doorway.

"Sherlock, I can't sleep. I'b not tired."

"Not my problem." Sherlock said as he turned to leave.

"Wait. Can you tell me a story?" Sherlock looked at him.

"A story. I'm assuming that would help."

"Yes."

"Fine. A story." And so it began.


	2. Red The Serial Killer

**A/N: We know it's a wee bit early to upload the next chapter already, but since the first one was short and had no fairytale in it, we decided to add the next earlier then planned. As always, we own nothing. Please tell us what day of the week we should regularly update/upload on in the reviews. Hope you enjoy the story!**

**-Dante Pierre**

Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Red. She lived with her mum, Rose, in a sweet little cottage on the edge of the forest, right next to the river. Red had a grandmother, Cynthia, who lived in the forest, not too far from Red and her mum.

Red had always been an odd child. She would sit outside their house for hours on end, not moving an inch. When her mum asked her why, Red would reply she was waiting for father to come back. Rose would get a far off look for a moment or two before giving her daughter a sad smile and telling her that father wouldn't come back. Not ever. It was the same routine, every day. Red was a kind-soul, helping anything in need and giving everything a chance, but she was so...changeable. Some would say she took after her father in that manner. Red had never hurt anyone in her life, but things were soon to change.

It happened on a beautiful summer's day. Rose had given Red a basket with a freshly baked cake in it and had sent her off with instructions to visit her grandmother. Red promised her mum she would stay on the path and stay safe before setting off to Cynthia's house. She knew little of the horror that lay ahead.

Cynthia had always been a forgetful woman. Rumours said she had even forgotten her own name once, but her forgetfulness had never caused her trouble in life. That too was about to change. You see, it so happened that the same day Red was to visit her grandmother, Cynthia had left the door open in her house. Wide open. A pack of starving, desperate wolves had smelled the fresh game Cynthia had been skinning at the time and had made a bold move. Red arrived just in time to witness her grandmother whom she loved dearly be ripped to shreds by the vicious wolves. Instead of screaming and running back home immediately, something had clicked, or rather snapped, in Red's mind. She set down the basket, but took out the knife her mum had packed just incase. After all the forest was a dangerous place, where dreadful things happened. Eerily quiet, Red walked back to the cottage. Silently, she walked up to her mum, picked up the rolling pin that hadn't yet been put away and hit her mum on the back of the head with it. Hard. Rose collapsed and Red got to work.

Half an hour later Red was finished. Her mum was laying on the floor so peacefully that one would think she was sleeping, at least until they noticed that she was very much dead. Her eyes had been neatly removed and put in a jar as keepsakes, and her throat had been slit with the precision of a surgeon. A bloody hand print adorned Rose's chest, right above her heart. After admiring her masterpiece, Red left the cottage in search of another victim.

It didn't take long for her to find the village of Kingsley. It was a quaint town with a population of about one hundred. Red killed and created ten more works of art before she was caught. They held her in the blacksmith's storage room while they decided her fate. A few of the people saw her as a child, an innocent tainted by great evil that could be removed with care and kindness. Everyone else was all for hanging her as they witch they thought her to be, child or not. Two days later Red joined all her other victims, six feet under.

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><p>"The end."<p>

"Sherlock. I'b even bore awake."

"You didn't like the story."

"It scared me. Tell me another."

"Fine. Once upon a time..."


	3. The Three Little Dealers

**And here's the next chapter. Don't really know how long we plan to make this one, but it will be at the very very very very very least three or so more chapters. Once again, that would be the very very very very very least.**

**We don't own any of it! Damn!**

**Please review and fav/follow. Thx**

**-Dante Pierre**

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><p>Once upon a time, there were three brothers; Al, James and Nick, the eldest. Their mother, Teresa, had always hoped her boys would turn out well; make a living for themselves and settle down with a nice family and a quiet life. Apparently, she was either shit at raising kids, or didn't express her wishes to them often enough, and soon after they moved out into the world, Al, James and Nick all became relatively successful drug dealers.<p>

Nick was probably the worst. His calm demeanor and silver tongue lulled you into a sense of security while he robbed you blind, murdered you and put the blame on your next-door neighbor. All the while, you would still trust him, because after all, Nick was always right and Nick never made a mistake.

Al, on the other hand, was more of a blunt man. He would threaten to rip you limb from limb and then feed you to your own mother on Christmas Eve. As you can imagine, those poor souls that made the mistake of not taking his threats seriously didn't have an open casket.

The least successful of the brothers, James, was an honest man, if that was possible. He never crossed anyone and always held up his end of the bargain. He was also very naive and trusting, which unfortunately lead him to being taken advantage of, so to speak. As you can imagine, James was the first to have run-ins with the police.

James had just wrapped up a deal he had thought to be the most successful of his entire career. Little did he know, the man he had dealt with went straight to the police, the drugs as evidence that James was indeed a dealer. Not an hour later James was on the run. He had barely escaped the cops, losing them in a busy street and was on his way to his brother, Al's place. Al reluctantly agreed to help out his brother, and the two started business together.

About two months later, when business was booming, they slipped up. They had gotten lazy and weren't checking their potential customers out as thoroughly as they should have. As a result, an undercover cop slipped their nets and got deep into the system. By the time they had realized what had happened, it was too late, the cop had learned everything last detail about their trade. So James was on the run again, but this time he was accompanied with his younger brother Al. They went to their eldest sibling, Nick.

Nick saw a chance to get rid of his incompetent brothers. They were an embarrassment to him and he couldn't stand sharing their surname. Unfortunately, he couldn't out right murder them without solid proof of their sheer dumbness. That would be crossing the line. He had to wait for them to make a mistake under his watch. Then he could have them killed.

He didn't have to wait long. Two weeks after he took his brothers in, he sent them off to deal with a troublesome client who refused to pay for the shipments he had received. Al and James slipped up. The client got away and was never heard from again. Nick had lost a good chunk of profits on him and he was pissed. On the bright side, he now had reason to kill his brothers. He had them tied up and shot in the night like the dogs they were. Nick went on to being the most renowned drug dealer in the world now that his brothers were not around to sully his reputation.

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><p>"Do you eben know the real story."<p>

"What real story?"

"The three liddle pigs."

"Obviously."

"Uh huh."


	4. Wendy And The Kidnapper

**We still own nothing. Ah well.**

**Also, we'd just like to say that we will be doing a Hansel and Gretel story soon, as per request, so hang in there!**

**Does anyone think we should write a crossover?**

**Anyways, here's chapter...three? No, oops. Four. Yes, that's it. HOPE YOU ENJOY!**

**Please review. Seriously. COME ON PEOPLE! We're saying please! :D**

**-Dante Pierre**

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><p>Once upon a time, there was a happy little family in London, England. There was Mr. And Mrs. Darling and their lovable daughter Wendy Darling. The Darling's had always been fortunate, things always worked out in their favour, but most of all Mr. And Mrs. Darling always believed themselves extremely lucky to be blessed with a child like Wendy. She was kind, but somewhat naive. She helped anyone and everyone in need and was always willing to give others a second chance. Everyone loved Wendy; even those who claimed to despise her secretly admired her. So you can imagine it was quite a shock to many people when Wendy became the forty-second victim of the notorious kidnapper, Peter Pan.<p>

Peter Pan, whose real name nobody knows, was quite the opposite of Wendy. He was a clever, yet cruel man with no heart. He never helped anyone, and only did things that would benefit him. He never gave anyone a second chance; in fact, he sometimes didn't give people a first chance. He had made it his profession to hurt people, mainly by kidnapping their children and asking for exuberant ransoms. Even when the ransom was paid, Peter Pan didn't always return the children to their parents. One of only things authorities knew for sure was that he worked with an accomplice widely known as "The Shadow". Peter Pan was an awful excuse for a human being.

One morning Wendy said goodbye to her parents like every other Saturday morning and began her two-minute walk to her friend, Lily's, house. And just like any other Saturday morning, when she got to Lily's they went to the park with Prince, Lily's dog.

They played with Prince for about an hour before it happened. They had been throwing around a ball, and one time Wendy threw it too far, into the bush. Prince ran into the foliage in pursuit of his toy, but never came back out. After a bit, Wendy told Lily she would go look for the dog, so off she went. Lily stayed where she was incase her dog came back. Wendy wandered into the bush calling out Prince's name, but with no avail. She was just about to go back to her friend when she heard a branch crack behind her. She turned hesitantly, and called out the dog's name. A tall man dressed in black came into view and strides towards her. She was about to ask him if he was lost, when he hit her hard across the face, hard enough to knock her out.

When Wendy woke up she found herself in a poorly lit room. Her wrists were shackled above her head to the wall behind her. The floor was dirty, hard and cold, the ceiling wasn't visible. As she took in her surroundings, she noticed she wasn't alone in the room. There were two other boys, chained to the wall in the same manner that she was. It wasn't until she recognized the two boys, did she truly begin to panic. She remembered them from the paper; their names were Michael and John. They were two of the un-returned children that Peter Pan had kidnapped. Both families had paid the ransoms, but their little boys hadn't been returned to them. It was like some sort of sick game. She started to sob when she realized what that meant; Peter Pan had taken her.

Mrs. Darling wept as her husband tried in vain to console her. Peter Pan had taken their little girl. He was asking for a huge amount of money for her return, and the Darling's could just barely afford it, if they sold their house. Two weeks later, the money was delivered to the drop spot. The money was accepted, but it seemed as if the Darling's luck had finally run out, they never saw Wendy again.

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><p>"Now I'b sad. Tell me a lobe story."<p>

Sherlock sighed.

"Pleeeeeeeeease?"


	5. Welcome To Hell

**A/N: We own nothing.**

**So this was supposed to be a variation of The Frog Prince, but... yah, it didn't work out all that well. Depending on how you look at the plot it could be similar to that of the Frog Prince's. It's kinda vague though.**

**Anyways, that's our shpeal for the day, hope you enjoy the story! :)**

**-Dante Pierre**

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><p>Once upon a time there was a gang leader. A badass gang leader. His gang was known as the Red Gang, their biggest rival known as Gang X. Both gangs dealt in drugs, robbed houses and did all the other things you would normally associate with gangs, but there was one main difference between the two gangs. Their leaders. The Red Gang's leader was not what you would expect. He didn't like killing people unless there was no other option and he usually was forgiving and relatively kind. Gang X's leader was a completely different story. He was ruthless and a cold-blooded killer. He would stop at nothing to achieve his goals and he despised the Red Gang's leader. He saw him as weak and naive. Yet time and time again, the Red Gang's leader proved to be superior to Gang X's leader.<p>

The feud between the two gangs had started long before their respective leaders came into power. Nowadays, it was an unspoken rule that the Red Gang stayed on the west side of the city and Gang X stayed on the east side of the city. This originated from a fight the two gangs had had. One could even call it a mini-war. Eventually, the two gangs agreed on a truce, seeing as the fighting wasn't about to end, and they split up the city equally, using Main Street as a border.

One typically boring day, the leader of the Red Gang was doing his usual business with their best client, when he decided he needed a cup of coffee. Not the shitty stuff that his gang made out of the cheap crap, but a real coffee made from quality coffee beans. He wrapped up his deal and headed off to the nearest Starbucks. A pretty blond girl with green eyes served him. As you would expect, she caught his eye and he started to fall in love with her. He came back the next day for some more coffee (or so he said) and then the next and the next and on and on until he had been going to that Starbucks everyday for two whole months. The girl and him started to bond, and finally he asked her out. She said yes. They had been going steady for three months before she finally found out who he really was.

He had never told her he was the Red Gang's leader, in fear of scaring her away, but one night, when he was unfortunately drunk, he told her the truth. She was so appalled by the fact that she had been dating a gang leader that she left him immediately, even in his drunken state. She quit her job at Starbucks, started working at a grocery store and moved back in with her mother. Nevertheless, our badass gang leader found his love and begged her to take him back. He told her to give him a chance, that he really wasn't as bad as he seemed. After much pleading from her ex-boyfriend, she finally gave in. He took her to his gang's home base and introduced her to everyone. She found that he really wasn't as bad she thought he was; in fact, he was quite a respectable man. He treated his underlings well and actually acted more like a protector of the city compared to the leader of Gang X. She took him back happily and he asked her to marry him. She said yes. They were married the next day and she became an honorary gang member. Their bliss lasted for six days. The leader of Gang X found out about her and had her shot in the head as an act of war. Needles to say, the leader of the Red Gang retaliated and soon the whole city was in ruins. A war erupted between the two gangs once again, and the leader of the Red Gang fought for the murder of his love. He got revenge in the end, but he lost many friends in the process. He found in the end that he had nothing left to live for and slit his wrists. He was a gang leader and he committed suicide, and therefore he went to Hell for eternity. The love of his life was pure and innocent, so she went to Heaven. They were separated for the rest of time and they never saw each other again.

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><p>"That wasn't a lobe story. That was saddenig. Orribly saddenig."<p>

"It was a love story. They fell in love and got married. How much more of a love story can you get?"

"They died. Ad neber saw each other again. Ad you don't even beliebe in Eaban and Ell." John protested.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You want me to tell you another story."

"Yeah. Not a lobe story. Your lobe stories are awful."

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><p><strong>AN: Whispers in a demonic voice:**_** Hansel & Gretel is next!**_


	6. Hansel And Gretel, The Assassins

**A/N: We own nothing.**

**As we said earlier, a request was made asking for an adaptation of the story of Hansel & Gretel. **

**"Can you do Hansel and Gretel next please? Like pretty please with Benedict on top?" ****How could we say no to a request like that? ;) ****So here it is. ****Hope you guys enjoy it.**

**Big thanks to those who have taken our erm-_polite_ requests (pleads) to heart and reviewed. We love you! ****So please, do us a a huge, huge favour and keep reviewing!**

**On to the slightly morbid and teeniest-bit gruesome story! :D**

**-Dante Pierre**

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><p>Once upon a time there lived a married couple with two beautiful children. Hansel and Gretel were the center of their parents' joy. Unfortunately, times got rough and the couple was forced to abandon their children and flee the country. Hansel, being the older of the two, felt that it was his responsibility to take care of his little sister. He learned how to pickpocket and was able to get a little money every now and then to buy some scraps of food to sustain them. Gretel, being old enough to understand that her brother loved her more than anything even though she was a burden to him, soon realized that she had to help him. It wasn't fair for him to everything; they had to work together to survive on the streets. And so Hansel taught her everything he knew, as little knowledge as that was. They began working as a team, liberating small portions of money from unaware people. They brought in enough to get themselves at least one good meal a day, a big improvement on what meager provisions Hansel was able to provide by himself. The two lived relatively happily on the street for the next year or so, never leaving each other's sides no matter how tough the going got.<p>

One practically awful day, Hansel and Gretel found themselves sitting, huddled, in a dark alley with only a small piece of bread to share. The whole week had been rather unlucky for the two, as the pickings had been sparse. They were starving. As Gretel was about to break the bread into two, something ploughed into her and ripped the bread from her hands. A six-year-old boy, who was skinny as a skeleton and deathly pale had been eyeing that piece of bread for the whole evening, hidden in the shadows. Unfortunately, he had chosen the wrong people to steal from. He ran as fast as he could, but the starving and now angered siblings ran faster. In moments they had caught up with him and had tackled him to the ground and started beating him. Fury dominated both Hansel and Gretel. How could this stupid boy take their food away from them?! They had every right to that bread and he had none. They were so angered, that they didn't notice that they had gone to far until the boy's life was beaten out of him. Gretel sat back on their heels, feeling the shame for what they had done. A little boy. Starving and homeless, much like them. They hadn't even known his name, yet they beat him to death over a piece of bread. A small, insignificant piece of bread. Tears started to cloud her vision, but Hansel told her what they had done was for the best. Life was unfair, and sometimes unpleasant things had to be done to survive. The boy was in a better place anyways. Comforted by his words, she felt all guilt leave her and they ate their bread on the cold street next to the dead boy's corpse. Once they had finished, they carried his body to the nearest bridge and dumped him into the river. That night they changed, no longer scared children, but confident children that knew they had what it took to survive.

The next two years went by much more comfortably for them. They felt no remorse in killing and kill they did. They murdered other beggars for the few things they could call their own. They stole from the few friends they had made on the streets. Reports of bodies flowing down the river became more and more common and the cases began to pile up, but nobody bothered Hansel and Gretel. In the world of the homeless, the siblings were at the top of the food chain. They were undefeated, taking and killing as they wished. One day, it wasn't enough for them, and they set their sights on bigger prey, on one man in particular, but they unfortunately didn't know that he was a black belt in Karate.

Everything was planned down to the last detail. Hansel and Gretel knew exactly what to do and who would do it. It was early in the morning; the man had recently taken to morning jogs before everyone else came out of their houses. He took the same route every-time. On the signal Gretel began to advance from behind. It was her job to take the man by surprise, distract him for a moment so that Hansel could jump out of a pre-planned hiding spot and kill their victim. It was an extremely successful and efficient process. Gretel bumped into the man, and was about to mutter an apology when a fist struck her in the side of the head. The man was smart and he knew something was up. Immediately Gretel fought back and Hansel jumped out from behind a bush armed with a knife. The man ducked and blocked their attacks with ease and within seconds had disarmed Hansel. It was obvious that they were about to be defeated, and as they turned to retreat, the man caught Gretel and pushed the knife up against her throat. Gretel could do nothing to escape him without getting her throat slit. The man smiled a horrible smile and Hansel found himself feeling fear for the first time in years. The man was impressed by their skill, as nobody ever lasted more than two seconds when facing him. He told them that he could, and should, kill them both right there and then, riding the world of their filthy existence. But in the end, he offered them a job. There was a lady that had a pendant that he sorely needed, unfortunately, he was also related to her, so he couldn't off her himself. The police would be onto him immediately. He told them that if they successfully executed the task, he would forget that they ever attempted to harm him and even pay them for their troubles. Fearing death, the siblings readily agreed. The man smiled his creepy smile once more, released Gretel and introduced himself as Mr. David Robert Jones. And so began the sibling's first ever job.

They went to the house they were briefed on, in the middle of the night, and broke in with ease. Silently, clad in black, Hansel and Gretel made their way down the hallway and towards a set of stairs that supposedly led to the woman's room. Along the way they passed what they guess to be her kitchen. It had sweets littered all other the counters and empty wrappers piled up high in what must've been her trash bin. Chocolates, cookies, mints, toffees, you may it; you would most like find it somewhere in the cupboards lining her kitchen walls. As you could guess, the woman had quite the sweet tooth. Moving along, the siblings made their way up the stairs and down another, but much shorter, hallway. They crept up towards the door and ever so slowly opened the door, hoping not to wake her. Moved silently into the room, and slowly so not to trip on anything, the moonlight from the one window in the room illuminating the figure in the bed. That's when Gretel noticed something about their target; she was nothing more than a small, frail looking old woman. Still a job was a job, and Gretel kept moving ready to do her part. Once Hansel was in position, Gretel quickly clamped a hand over the woman's mouth and Hansel sliced the old lady's throat. The woman's eyes flew open, her surprise evident. She made a few gurgling noises and flailed around as she choked on her own blood and attempted to free herself. Fortunately for her, she lasted only a few seconds before she died. Her eyes glossed over, losing their wild alertness. She moved no more. There on her chest lay the pendant. Gretel removed it from her bloody neck, careful not to look at the woman's eyes. The eyes of the dead had always sent shivers down her spine. Once the pendant was safely removed and stored away, Hansel gathered the old woman's lifeless body in his arms and the two of them made their way down the stairs once more. They entered her kitchen and Hansel walked over to the large oven that sat along the wall furthest from the door. Gretel waited at the threshold of the kitchen. Hansel opened the oven door and neatly tucked the lady's small body inside. He closed the door and set the heat up to the highest setting. They left the house without another glance back, the old woman's face already fading from their memory. Little did they know that that was the first job out of the hundreds that they would do over the course of their lives. And so were born Hansel and Gretel, the assassins.

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><p>"The End. Satisfactory?"<p>

"They were kids! Not eben adults!"

"So?"

"So?!"

"Life is unfair. Things happen." Sherlock stated plainly. John shook his head in disbelief.

"I'b not going to argue with you."

"Good."

"But I'b still not tired."

"Johhhnnnn..."

"Another story. Please?" Sherlock took one glance at the adorable look on John's face and gave in.

"Fine." John smiled.


	7. Little Girls

**A/N: So here's the Bluebeard story as requested, we're seeing what we can do with Rumpelstiltskin, so sit tight.**

**We own nothing.**

**-Dante Pierre**

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><p>Once upon a time there lived a lovely woman named Jeanette. Jeanette was your typical mix of blonde hair and blue eyes, but make no mistake, her life was anything but typical. You see, Jeanette worked for a pharmaceutical company, in a secret lab. Her employer, a shady man named Gordon, adored her. She got unlimited amounts of money to spend on her research projects and was always given the benefit of the doubt. Jeanette was an honest woman, so she never abused the power she held.<p>

One day, Gordon informed her that he had to leave on a business trip for six days. He gave her the keys to the whole lab and told her she was in charge. He explained all the protocols to her, although she already knew them cold, and gave her a number to call if she had any trouble. Just before he left, he told her that the smallest key he had given her unlocked the door to his most recent experiment, but she was not to open that door under any circumstances. No one was to be allowed into that room. Jeanette promised she wouldn't open the door and bid her boss goodbye. As soon as Gordon had left the premises, Jeanette got back to work. The day passed by quickly and soon it was time for her to lock up. As she was leaving she spotted the door to Gordon's experiment. Her curiosity started to grow, but she didn't break her promise. The next day was like torture for her. She wanted to know what Gordon had been working on so bad that she couldn't focus on a single thing other than what could possibly be behind that door. But since she was an honest, hard working employee, she kept her promise and stayed out of the room. By the fourth day it was simply too much.

After everyone else had left the lab, Jeanette walked up the the door. She fitted the small key into the lock and turned. Practically shaking with anticipation, she pushed open the door. It was just like every other room, there was nothing special about it, except for the one thing. In the corner of the room, there was a cage. Slowly, she walked up to it and peered between the bars. There lay a small child, covered in bruises and cuts that stood out in contrast to her sickly pale skin. Jeanette gasped in horror, how could Gordon do this to a child? She looked around frantically, trying to find a way to open the cage, when she found a small keyhole, matching the one on the door. She took out the small key and fitted it in. The door swung open and she rushed to the child's side. Carefully she turned her over and slowly, the child opened her eyes. They were like nothing Jeanette had ever seen. The girls eyes were deep purple, her pupils slits, not unlike a cat's. The child smirked and showed off her sharp fangs. Jeanette didn't even have a chance to scream. The girl ripped her throat out and then proceeded to eat her, tearing into her flesh like she hadn't eaten for weeks, which she hadn't. When there was not a single scrap of Jeanette left, except her torn, bloodied clothes, the child took the keys and made her way out of the lab and into the city.

By the time the word of Jeanette's death reached Gordon's ears, it was too late. The child had killed half of the city, this time leaving bodies littered everywhere filled with eggs. The girl was unstoppable, no bullets could pierce her skin. The authorities acted too slowly and soon the eggs had hatched and the city was swarming with hungry little girls with fangs and purple cat eyes. In ten years, two thirds of the worlds population was dead. It only took another six months before there wasn't a single living human on the face of the Earth. Wildlife took over. The plants dominated the cities, slowly but surely. The little girls turned on each other, and soon they died out too. Animals ruled the Earth. It took another century before all signs that there had ever been human life on the Earth were destroyed.

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><p>"The end."<p>

"Tell be another one."

"No." Sherlock said as he moved to get up. His way out of the room was blocked by a cheery-faced idiot. Molly Hooper.

"Hello boys! John, I heard you were feeling under the weather."

"Molly. Yes, I'b feeling sick, but Sherlock was just about to tell be a story. Would you care to join?" John asked innocently, ignoring Sherlock's mumbled protests.

"A story? I love stories!" Molly exclaimed. She walked over the foot of John's bed and sat down, careful as to be far enough from the sick man as she possibly could.

Sherlock sighed in defeat as two almost identical sets of puppy eyes stared at him expectantly and moved back to his chair. He sat down and began yet another story.

"Once upon a time..."


	8. Mr Ginger & Mrs Foxx

**A/N:**

**Really sorry this has taken soooooo long to get up. I had it written a while ago, but never got around to posting it. Hope the wait wasn't too long. **

**Anyways, there was a request for the Gingerbread man, so here it is. Hope you guys enjoy! :)**

**Also, there was a request for Rumpelstiltskin, but unfortunately I'm not gonna write that. I tried a bunch of times, believe me, but it just wasn't working.**

**Enjoy the story, and as always, please review! It helps a lot! :D**

**-Dante Pierre**

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><p>Once upon a time, there lived a sweet old couple, Mr. and Mrs. Baker. They had been married for fifty-eight years, they were high school sweethearts. Life was good for them, they're only regret was that they had never had any children. They were happy, healthy, financially stable, and they had each other. At this point in life, they really couldn't have asked for anymore.<p>

One day, out of the blue, Mr. Baker suggested that they open a bakery up together. Mrs. Baker was quite handy with an oven, and she absolutely loved baking. She agreed, and soon the two had their own small store on the corner of Innocent Road and Brandon Street.

At first business was slow, but it wasn't long before customers were streaming in and all of Mrs. Baker's lovely pies, cakes, cookies, loaves of bread, and pastries were selling out on a daily basis. She just couldn't keep up. Seeing that his wife was overworking herself, Mr. Baker looked into hiring a helping hand. That's how he found George Ginger. Mr. Ginger was a young man, fresh out of school, but according to his reports, he had quite a knack for baking. An interview was set up, and soon Mr. Ginger was working alongside Mrs. Baker, eager to help and learn everything there was to learn. Mrs. Baker gladly taught him all of her secrets and recipes. The two worked together perfectly, and soon the customers that were lining up outside the store doors weren't turned away at midday when Mrs. Baker ran out of goods. Things went smoothly.

It was a Tuesday, a wretched Tuesday when things went sour. Mrs. Baker was in the hospital, barely holding on after a particularly nasty heart attack. That same Tuesday, Mrs. Baker passed away. Mr. Baker went into shock, and denial. He couldn't believe that the love of his life was gone. Mr. Ginger was also heartbroken, he had looked up to Mrs. Baker and she had taught him so much. The two of them had become like family to Mr. Ginger.

Mr. Baker had made his decision, he was moving. The town reminded him too much of what he lost. He gave the keys to the bakery to Mr. Ginger, told him to keep their dream alive and said his farewells. Mr. Ginger gladly accepted the store, promised that he would keep baking and wished Mr. Baker farewell. Mr. Baker died four months later when he was tragically hit by a bus.

Four years later the the bakery was still up and running, doing as well as ever. People loved Mr. Ginger's baking just as much as they had loved Mrs. Baker's baking. He had so many customers everyday that things became too overwhelming and Mr. Ginger was forced to hire a young, energetic Mrs. River to handle the sales. He was just too busy with all the baking. Business people from all over were approaching Mr. Ginger, offering merges, offering to be business associates, but every time he declined politely. He preferred baking on his own and Mrs. River was doing just fine. One fine Friday afternoon, a lovely redhead by the name of Mrs. Foxx approached Mr. Ginger. She owned a nice little coffee shop down the street and wanted to order pastries in bulk from the bakery. Mr. Ginger agreed, and every morning he personally walked over to the coffee shop and delivered the day's goods. Mrs. Foxx and Mr. Ginger became very good friends indeed.

Mr. Ginger ran the bakery successfully for another three years, until he got into a horrible accident. It was winter, the ground was icy and he had been driving to the hospital to visit his dying mother. A car slid out of control and slammed into him just as the light turned green for him. Another car smashed into the car that hit him. Mr. Ginger woke up in the hospital two days later and the doctors gave him the bad news. The crash had caused him many injuries, the most painful being his smashed up hip, but the worst was his left arm. The nerve had been damaged and bone had been broken so badly that the doctors feared he would never be the same. His baking career came to screeching halt. Three days later his mother passed away. Mr. Ginger honestly thought his life was ending.

He had just been looking into selling his store off when Mrs. Foxx visited him in the hospital. She brought him chocolates, a book, and a business offer. She knew how much the bakery meant to him, and she wanted to help save it. She offered a merger, the coffee shop and the bakery could become one. They could look into hiring new bakers and Mr. Ginger could watch over them, teach them everything he knew. Mr. Ginger had no reason to believe that he couldn't trust Mrs. Foxx, so he gladly accepted. Things were looking up again.

They bought out the store next to the bakery, sold the coffee shop and started fresh. The bakery was expanded, tables and chairs were added in and new staff members were hired. Mrs. River was put back in charge of the sales, she really was amazing with the cash register. Soon customers from all over were coming to buy drinks and baked goods from the store.

Everything was perfect. Mr. Ginger was happy again and the bakery was doing better than it ever had thanks to Mrs. Foxx.

Since the store had been doing so well, Mrs. Foxx wanted to expand and open up more stores. She was particularly interested in opening up stories although out the country. She was convinced that the business could become one of the biggest coffee and baked goods franchises in the world. Mr. Ginger on the other hand didn't share the same opinion. He thought that if they opened more stores up, the quality would go down and it would become a failing chain, a fading memory. The two were constantly arguing, and finally Mrs. Foxx decided to put an end to it. No one was going to stand between her and the promise of wealth and fame. And so the clever woman started to plot. She dropped the idea of expanding completely and Mr. Ginger forgot all about it. A few months later she approached him and casually suggested that he write down everything he knew about baking incase something awful was to happen to him. He agreed immediately and got to work. It took about another month before he finally finished writing everything down. He put his work into a folder and handed it to Mrs. Foxx for safekeeping. And was it ever a good thing that he did. Not three days later did Mr. Ginger have a horrible accident. It seemed as if he spilt some water on the floor while cutting up a loaf of bread at home, slipped and managed to stab himself with the bread knife. He bled his life out, quite literally, and died with in minutes. Poor Mr. Ginger, what a clumsy man he was.

Mrs. Foxx found him dead the next morning when he didn't show up for work. According to the neighbours, she had screamed quite loudly. Even so, everyone thought that poor Mr. Ginger's passing was a little bit odd, even mysterious.

It was during Mr. Ginger's funeral, that Mrs. Foxx let it slip that she would be opening up more shops. When asked if she thought that Mr. Ginger's death would negatively affect the store, Mrs. Foxx simply replied that change was good, and sometimes change was what people needed to move forwards. People accepted that and waited eagerly for news of more stores being opened. In the span of one year, the stores spread like a disease, infecting every town and city across the country. It wasn't long before the bakery went worldwide and became the world's largest coffee and baked goods franchise, just as Mrs. Foxx had hoped. In the end, it was a good thing that Mr. Ginger had died so suddenly, otherwise the store wouldn't have become so successful. Poor Mr. Ginger. He should have known better than to cross Mrs. Foxx. She was one fiery, determined, redhead.

* * *

><p>"The end."<p>

Molly wiped the tears away from her eyes, "That was beautiful Sherlock. Tell us another one please?"

"Yes, please, Sherlock. Tell us another. It was a bery nice story."

Sherlock groaned. What had he ever done to deserve such hellish torture?


	9. Ariel

**A/N:**

**WE OWN NOTHING**

**So here is yet another chapter. I had a request for this one a looooong time ago, and once again just recently, so I'm proud to say it's finally here. The Little Mermaid! So yah.**

** Review please, and enjoy! :)**

**-Dante Pierre**

* * *

><p>Once upon a time, there was a man named Louis. Louis was a simple man, who had a simple job. He was part of a crew of fifteen other men and women that all worked together everyday cleaning The Pearson Nuclear Power Plant. He was a hard worker, and was good at his job. He never did a half-ass work, and he never took a sick day.<p>

Louis had a wife, Monica. They were happy together. It hadn't been love at first sight, but they'd grown on each other over time. They rarely had fights and would never even dream of being unfaithful to each other. Louis and Monica were Roman Catholic, like many other people in their neighbourhood. They went to church every Sunday and made many good friends. Louis was a happy man.

One fine Tuesday, Louis was doing his normal rounds when the building's sirens started to scream. Knowing that it meant a breach in the building's safety precautions, Louis dropped everything he was doing and ran towards the nearest exit. Everyone else was leaving the building in what should have been an orderly manner, but unfortunately, the alarms had taken everyone by surprise and chaos erupted. People were running every which way, tripping and stumbling. Everyone went into panic. Louis tried to get out, but some engineer smashed into him, sending them both sprawling to the ground. Louis smacked his head on the hard concrete floor and groaned. The other man had already gotten up and left. His vision started to grow blurry and he struggled to get up. A foot hit him in the side of the head and he was knocked out cold.

When Louis woke up he was lying in a painfully bright room filled with annoying beeping noises. He slowly adjusted to his surroundings and noticed he was in a hospital room. A bandage was wrapped around his head and he was hooked up to all sorts of monitors. Monica was sitting in the corner reading a magazine, the sunlight coming in through the window made her red hair glow. Monica seemed glad that Louis was finally awake, and the two talked for the rest of the day. When visiting hours ended, Monica said goodbye and left Louis to sleep. He recovered quickly and the doctors said that there weren't any major injuries. The next two years passed by relatively uneventfully for Louis and Monica.

It was on their sixth wedding anniversary when Monica announced the good news. She was pregnant! Louis was overjoyed and Monica's parents were very happy indeed. Both of Louis's parents had died in an unfortunate accident when he was fourteen, but he knew in his heart that they would have been ecstatic. The next eight months passed by quickly and before he knew it his wife was giving birth to a little girl. Their little girl. They were going to name her Ariel. What Louis and Monica didn't know is that all those years back, when Louis had been in the hospital because of his head injury, the doctors had never checked him properly for radiation poisoning. While he had been knocked out on the building's floor, he had been exposed to radiation, more than what could be labelled as healthy. And so when Monica gave birth to little Ariel, her appearance was a huge shock to them. Her genes had been mutated, causing a most unusual problem. Ariel's legs were fused together, making her look like a mermaid.

Ariel was cared for by her family, and they all loved her very much, but Louis couldn't stand the thought of his little girl having to deal with such a big health issue. She certainly never asked for it, and he hated to see her suffer. He and Monica didn't bring in enough money for the expensive treatments that could have made Ariel's life so much better. Seeing as there was no way around it, Louis decided to sue both The Pearson Nuclear Power Plant and the hospital. He won both court cases and his little girl got the best treatments available. It wasn't a perfect solution, but it definitely helped. Ariel, unfortunately, died at the age of twelve. Her condition caused a massive infection that no amount of money could've treated.

Louis and Monica never forgot their Ariel, their little mermaid.

* * *

><p>"The end."<p>

Silence.

Sherlock looked up, expecting to see John and Molly staring at him intently, waiting for yet another story.

"He's asleep." whispered Molly, staring down at the sleeping figure of John.

"I've got to go now, though. You're a good friend, Sherlock. Telling John stories while he's sick."

Molly smiled at Sherlock as she tiptoed around him, afraid of waking John.

Sherlock looked down at his best friend, curled up right in the middle of the bed, fast asleep. John looked so peaceful, god forbid, almost angelic. And he had the cutest little snore ever. Sherlock smirked.


	10. Ridiculously Long Hair

**A/N:**

**We/I still own nothing.**

**There was a request for Rapunzel, so here it is! :)**

**I'm planning on this being the last chapter with a story from Sherlock, sorry for any disappointments. There will be one more chapter after this, and that will be up within the next two days, I promise.**

**Thanks to everyone that reviewed, faved or followed! You guys are awesome!**

**Enjoy! And please review! :D**

**~Dante Pierre**

* * *

><p>John woke to silence. Absolute silence. No violin, no gunshots, nothing. Not even the sound of a teakettle or fingers typing away at a computer. It was never this eerily quiet, and that scared John. After all, the silence could only mean one thing, trouble.<p>

As quickly as he could, John frantically threw back the covers and tried to get out of bed. Unfortunately this only led to the many sheets that had been piled on top of him to tangle around his legs, causing him to trip and fall to the floor, flat on his face. As can be imagined, the whole ordeal caused quite a ruckus and within seconds Sherlock was running into John's room.

"John. John are you all right? Answer me! John!" The detective inquired worriedly upon seeing his friend face down on the floor.

John picked himself up and assured Sherlock that he was perfectly fine, except for the cold, before tripping on the sheets yet again. If it weren't for Sherlock's quick reflexes, John's face would've been once more acquainted with the hard wooden floor.

"Honestly John, you ought to be more careful. What were you doing out of bed in the first place? You're sick. You of all people should know you need rest." Sherlock scolded as he helped his friend back into bed.

"It was quiet, _really_ quiet. I thought sobethig had happened." John replied defensively, "I just wanted to bake sure eberything was alright."

"Of course it's quiet. You need rest. Would you prefer that I shoot at the walls? That could easily be arranged, I am very bored." Sarcasm dripped off of Sherlock's words.

The consulting detective took John's silence as a no.

"Go to sleep. The faster you get better the faster I won't have to be bored."

Once John was back in bed, wrapped up in about a billion sheets and comforters, Sherlock turned and walked out of the room.

"Sherlock!" John called after a moment of silence.

The detective's head appeared in the doorway.

"What is it now." Sherlock asked.

"You said you were bored."

"Obviously."

"You could tell be another story." John suggested hopefully.

Sherlock sighed miserably. He had known it would have only been a matter of time before John asked for yet _another_ story.

"Just one story?" John pleaded.

"Fine. One story." Sherlock sat down on the edge of John's bed and began his tale.

"Once upon a time..."

* * *

><p>Once upon a time there lived a beautiful young girl named Rapunzel. She had her mother's raven black hair and her father's chestnut brown eyes. She was the pride and joy of her mother, but her father didn't care much for her. In fact, you could go as far as to say that he was utterly disappointed with her. He had always wanted a son, and since he was an unkind man with a heart of stone; he never learned or even tried to love Rapunzel.<p>

Rapunzel's family was poorer than average, but that could be attributed to the fact that they lived in a rural area and didn't earn much income.

Rapunzel loved the outdoors. Her parents were farmers, so she ended up spending most of her time outside helping out around the property. Unfortunately Rapunzel wasn't very bright, she usually made a mess of every task she was delegated. This just irked her father even more.

One day Rapunzel made the worst mistake of all. When she had been attempting to cook some rice for dinner, at her mother's request, she instead managed to burn half of the house down. That was the last straw. Her father decided Rapunzel was costing him more than she was worth, so he sold her off to a slave trader. He got just enough money in return to fix his house and he no longer had to babysit his incompetent daughter, so he was very pleased indeed. Her mother on the other hand was completely distraught. She knew she would never see her beloved daughter again, and this drove her to take her own life. Rapunzel's father, being the heartless bastard he was, wasn't really bothered by his wife's death and got remarried within a month.

During the time Rapunzel had been sold off, there was a shortage of laborers at a nearby hair product manufactory and experimentation center. A recent accident had resulted in many deaths. Rapunzel was sold off again, and this time she ended up at the factory.

For a while Rapunzel was put to work among the other children, filling up bottles with shampoo, but the owners of the factory quickly learned that Rapunzel was awful at doing manual labor. She spilt more shampoo on the ground then she did actually get into the bottles. Given the shortage of workers, they couldn't just kill her off, so instead Rapunzel was assigned to a bunch of different jobs, but each one she managed to royally screw-up. Finally a decision was made. If she couldn't do any actual work, the owners decided that she would instead be used for experimentation.

Rapunzel was locked away in a room where the long-term effects of a faster hair growth gel were tested on her. The product worked too well, and her hair grew to be one and a half meters long within a month. Unfortunately, the gel also had some nasty side effects, the main one being horrible skin irritation. She was in so much pain that she wound up spending weeks screaming and crying all day and night. Nobody could figure out why the product was causing any pain at all, so finally, the gel was dumped and the experiments came to a halt. Once they stopped applying the gel to her scalp, pain started to subside almost immediately.

For the next four years, various different products were tested on her hair, but her hair was never cut. It grew to be ridiculously long, and that plus the unbearable pain that many of the products brought her, finally caused Rapunzel to go to drastic measures. One morning, when the researchers that had been using Rapunzel entered her room, they found her strung up by her hair. The poor girl had taken her own life.

* * *

><p>"The End. Now go to sleep." Sherlock said firmly. He got up and walked out of the room without another word.<p>

John contemplated calling the detective back and begging for another story, as he had grown rather fond of the dark, gruesome tales Sherlock told, but he decided against it. With a small yawn, John curled up in the middle of the bed, pulling the blankets closer to his body and fell asleep.


	11. Clive

**A/N:**

**We/I own nothing. :(**

**I've been thinking about my earlier announcement of ending this little series thing, and I'm happy to say I take it all back. Instead of ending this, I've decided to go along with someone's (EJBRUSH1952) suggestion of posting one or two a month or so. Also, rather than keeping John sick for all of eternity, because that would just be cruel, I'm going to try to incorporate other scenarios that will include other characters like Lestrade. :) **

**So yah, that was my little ramble for this post.**

**Hope you guys enjoy this chapter! :D It's a bit different than the other chapters. I apologize if you were hoping for another one of Sherlock's stories, and I swear this is a one time thing. (it's also kinda _really really_ short, sorry about that...)**

**~Dante Pierre**

* * *

><p>Exactly two months, one week and six days later, Sherlock Holmes got sick.<p>

It took John forever to convince his stubborn friend to take a day off and rest, but in the end, Sherlock relented and agreed to lay off the case solving. Unfortunately, instead of resting, Sherlock found himself in the same predicament that John had been when he had had a cold. Sherlock just couldn't fall asleep.

"John, _cough,_ I can't sleep. _sniff. cough._" Sherlock muttered from the couch. Try as he might, John just couldn't get Sherlock to lie down in his own bed.

"Go to your bed. Then you'll be able to sleep." John replied, never being one to give up. Sherlock ignored him.

"Remember when you were, _cough cough_, sick? You couldn't sleep either."

"Yes..." John replied hesitantly.

"_cough. _I told you stories. _cough._"

"Yes..."

"Tell me a story. _sniff_."

John looked over at Sherlock and smiled slightly. The detective was sprawled out on the couch, half covered in an orange fuzzy blanket. John had got him the blanket as a joke, but surprisingly, Sherlock had grown to be very attached to it.

"Alright."

John sat down on the chair facing the couch and cleared his throat before beginning his story.

* * *

><p>Once upon a time there was a red blood cell named Clive. Clive, like all the other red blood cells circulated through the body day after day, bringing oxygen to all the muscles. One day Clive started to notice a buildup of fats and cholesterol in one of the arteries. It was alarming at first, but soon Clive got used to it. What he didn't notice was that every day, a little bit more fat built up.<p>

It happened on a Tuesday, everything always happened on Tuesdays. The cholesterol and fat build-up got to be so big that it blocked the artery off and Clive got stuck outside of the heart. It wasn't long before the heart gave out and the body died. Then the electricity came, shocking the heart over and over, but the heart didn't beat. Clive waited and waited, but nothing else happened. Nothing else would ever happen again.

Clive finally died, as did every other cell in the body.

They all rested there, six feet under, trillions of little cells, all dead, and all part of the same body. All in the same casket.

* * *

><p>"The end." John finished, very proud of his lovely little story.<p>

Sherlock stared at John for a few moments before finally declaring, "_cough. _You are absolutely, _cough,_ dreadful at telling stories. _sniff._"


	12. Unquenchable Thirst

**A/N:**

**We/I own nothing.**

**Heyyyyy! It's been super long since the last time I posted a chapter. Sorry about that. *looks sheepishly at the floor and shuffles about* It's been super busy, and random-ass shit has been happening. I'm not going to be able to get chapters up as often as I was hoping to. Sorrrrry.**

**Twelve Dancing Princesses should be next. Thanks for the suggestion! You are awesome! :)**

**Hopefully this chapter isn't too shabby. (It's not even funny how many times I rewrote this own. Like _really_ not funny.)**

**Please review! I LOVE reviews!**

**Enjoy! :D**

**~Dante Pierre**

* * *

><p>It was Christmas. The worst time of the year in Sherlock's opinion. Not only was it absolutely pathetic how every person flocked to the stores like sheep, ready to spend absurd amounts of money on gifts that were either going to be forgotten after a few days, left on some shelf to collect dust, or returned, but during Christmas time John always made him spend time with people. For <em>hours<em>. It was Hell.

This year was no different. He was expected to play host alongside John for Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade and even his barely tolerable brother Mycroft. Honestly, what was John thinking when he invited Mycroft?

As the evening went on, Sherlock became more and more bored. The conversations were dull. The food and alcohol was even duller. Everyone but his brother and himself were drunk out of their minds, and although it was slightly amusing at first, by this point it was just getting tedious. Sherlock thought he would pass out from boredom, that is until John came up with the dreadful idea that Sherlock would tell the group a story. Sherlock sat up immediately and looked at John with horror.

"I'm not telling a story!" He snapped at John. Mycroft raised an eyebrow at his brother's over-the-top reaction, but John didn't even notice, he just kept telling everyone how wonderful Sherlock's stories were. It wasn't long before almost everyone was begging Sherlock to tell them one of his legendary stories. Except of course Mycroft, who just sat there silently, gauging his brother's responses. No matter how hard Sherlock tried to shoot them down and refuse, they just kept pestering him. Finally Sherlock gave in. It seemed it would just be less painful to tell a short story than have four people constantly bothering him for the next God-only-knew how many hours.

* * *

><p>Once upon a time there lived a beautiful young girl named Ella. She and her father lived together alone, as her mother had died during childbirth many years back. Ella's father was not a rich man, nor was he poor, but he and his daughter lived comfortably. Ella was everything her father had wanted in a daughter. She was smart, cheerful, well-mannered, and always a joy to be around. Unfortunately, there was one problem. You see, Ella had an unquenchable thirst for blood.<p>

Every Tuesday and Friday at around noon, just after lunch, Ella's father would take her out hunting. She'd kill anything and everything she laid eyes on, be it a bird, deer or bear. She'd always find a bloody way of condemning the animal to death. Her father knew something wasn't quite right with her, but he figured killing animals was much better than her hurting other people. That didn't stop him from keeping his thoughts secret.

When Ella turned sixteen, her father came into money. Close relatives of his had passed away, leaving their entire fortune to him. That didn't really change the way Ella and her father lived. They were comfortable with their current lifestyle and didn't want anything to do with the excess money, so Ella's father put it to the side, and vowed only to use it for things they actually needed.

Recently a widow, Victoria, a mother of two daughters heard about Ella's father's newfound wealth. Never being one to pass on opportunity, the woman decided to court Ella's father. She was very pretty for her age, and Ella's father immediately fell for her. Ella knew Victoria just wanted her father's money, but whenever she tried to bring it up, her father shot her down. The death of his wife had created a hole in his life that Ella simply could not fill. Although he loved his daughter dearly, he craved something more. He craved a companion, a lover.

A few months later, Ella's father and Victoria decided to marry. Ella was distraught, she hated the other woman, but she said nothing to her father. He was happy with Victoria, and she wasn't going to be the one to ruin that.

The wedding came and went, there was a grand celebration, and for the first few weeks, Ella decided that this new life wasn't actually that bad. She didn't like her new step-sisters, but they kept their distance, and she still got to hunt with her father just as often. Victoria believed it was wrong for a young woman of Ella's status to go hunting, but she didn't know anything about her step-daughter's problem. Yet no matter what Victoria said, Ella's father would not give in. He knew how important hunting was for Ella.

It wasn't long before Victoria had convinced Ella's father to use some of his vast wealth, and buy a new house. The house was ridiculously big and Ella was constantly getting lost wandering in the halls. Still, Ella's father and Victoria seemed happy together, Victoria always eager to please her husband and accompany him everywhere. Victoria began to replace Ella, and soon the only time Ella ever got to spend with her father was hunting.

One fine noon, Ella was headed to her father's room to remind him that they were supposed to be heading out into the woods. She had waited outside the estate for about an hour, and finally she decided her father had just forgotten about her. She hadn't seen him all day. When Ella got to her father's room, she knocked on the door, but there was no answer. She called his name, but still no answer. Quietly, she opened the door and looked around the room. There lay her father, on the ground, pale as snow. She threw the door open the rest of the way and ran to her father's side. She screamed for help, for anyone to come, and one of their servants came rushing in. He tried to pry Ella off of her father, to give him space, as he wasn't aware that his master was dead. Ella screamed at him, and he immediately ran out of the room to get more help. Ella wept over her father's body until a doctor came and she was dragged out of the room. She ran to her bedroom and refused to come out for three days.

The doctor proclaimed that Ella's father and been poisoned. Naturally, it had been Victoria, and Ella knew it, but there was no evidence. The police declared the case closed, saying it had to have been suicide since there was absolutely no physical evidence that said otherwise. Everyone had their suspicions, but they were just theories. Nothing could be proved. Victoria became the head of the house, and after a month or so of funerals and wakes Victoria sent Ella to her room and forbade her to leave. She couldn't stand the sight of Ella. Ella was smarter and prettier than her own daughters, and Victoria hated Ella for that.

Victoria also revoked Ella's hunting privileges. Without an outlet, Ella's thirst for blood became more and more potent. Soon she couldn't do anything but lay in bed thinking about blood and screaming people. It became too much for her to bear. Ella had to do something.

The next time a servant entered the room with Ella's food, Ella slammed the door shut and slit the woman's throat. She died without making a sound, but Ella barely felt any better. She started to carve the woman's flesh and by the time she was done and satisfied, she was splattered with blood. The woman was completely cut up, bits of her flesh were hanging by thread like bits of skin. Later that night, using the woman's set of keys, Ella dumped her barely recognizable body in front of her step-mother's bedroom door. She was sure that the next morning's shriek would be quite lovely.

Victoria had the body hidden. The last thing she needed was the police investigating her house again. Her reputation was already fragile enough. No, the body would have to stay hidden from the world.

If anyone had bothered to actually think about what happened, which they didn't, it would've been quite a simple matter to figure out that the maid had been delivering dinner to Ella the same night she perished. Fortunately for Ella, everyone was too preoccupied worrying if someone else might be brutally murdered. A few maids even quit, but really, who would blame them?

Ella was fine for another few days, but it wasn't long before she was itching for her next kill. She really couldn't help it. It was something about the smell of fresh blood, the way it flowed so gracefully out of her victim's wounds. It made her feel alive, it gave her a sense of satisfaction.

This time Ella was determined to kill someone close to Victoria, not some poor maid who just had the bad fortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Ella was going to make her step-mother miserable, and then she was going to find a creative and cruel way to avenge her father. Ella was going to kill her two stepsisters.

In the middle of the night Ella used the keys she had taken off the maid's body and snuck into her sisters' room. She brought with her the same knife from the last kill. Quiet as a mouse, she crept over to the elder sister, Drizella. The girl was murmuring in her sleep, probably having some sort of nightmare. Ella brought the knife up and with one smooth, strong flick of her wrist, she sliced open her step-sister's throat. Drizella's eyes flew open and she look around frantically. Blood was pouring out of her throat and pooling on the bed next to her neck. Ella watched, completely enthralled as Drizella's mouth opened and closed like a dying fish, but no sound came out. Ella had cut her vocal cords. Her step-sister tried grabbing Ella's wrist, but Ella swatted her away. She smiled coldly down at Drizella before plunging the knife into heart. Drizella stopped moving. Ella got to work.

Anastasia usually woke up around the middle of the night to relieve herself, this night being no exception. Except this time when she woke up, Anastasia noticed her sister was lying in an unusual position. Her arm was hanging off the end of the bed, and something seemed to be dripping off her fingers. She pushed off her covers and padded over to Drizella's bed, not noticing Ella pressed against one of the walls, and grabbed her sister's hand. Immediately she pulled her own hand back and held it up to her face. Anastasia's hand was now coated in a thick, warm layer of her sister's blood. She would've let out an award-winning scream had Ella not come up behind her, clapped a hand over her step-sister's mouth and slit her throat. Ella had a thing for slitting people's throats. Everything started going black for Anastasia, she bled out and died a few seconds later.

Carefully, as if she was laying a sleeping child down, Ella set her step-sister down on her own bed. She had just begun carving up her plump face when Ella heard footsteps outside of the door.

Victoria had also woken up in the middle of the night, and was overcome with an overwhelming urge to check up on her two daughters. Ever since the maid had been murdered, all she could think about was the safety of her precious children. That and the state of her own reputation.

Ella threw herself against the wall next to the door and waited with baited breath for her next victim to enter the room. Her blood was pumping. She was so excited. The footsteps stopped and the door opened. Victoria came into the room, and upon seeing her daughters both bloodied and splayed on their beds, dead, screamed. She didn't scream for long though. Ella came up behind her and smashed the hilt of her knife against the back of Victoria's head, knocking her out instantly. Ella stood over the limp form of Victoria and wondered what to do with her evil step-mother.

When Victoria came to, she was locked away in a cell-like room, four walls of stone and one thick steel door. The estate Ella's late father had bought had happened to have an eery dungeon-like basement. Victoria tried the door, but it was locked. She called out for help, but there was no reply. No one could hear her. That was when Victoria finally looked around her surroundings, her anxious, borderline panicked gaze swept over the room. What she found made her scream, and then promptly faint. She was locked in a room with the mutilated bodies of her two daughters.

* * *

><p>"The end." Sherlock finished.<p>

Mycroft was the first one to react.

"Dear me. If only Mother could hear you now." He said as if he was revolted, but Sherlock could detect the faintest bit of pride in his brother's voice.

"Oh do shut up." Sherlock shot back.

At this point Molly had begun to clap her hands, and within seconds Mrs. Hudson joined in.

"That was lovely, Sherlock!" The old landlady cooed. She and Molly both had obviously had _way_ too much to drink.

John was smiling proudly, very pleased with the story Sherlock had managed to conjure up this time.

Lestrade on the other hand was not as nearly as impressed.

"Sherlock, my friend," he said as he pointed a slightly shaky finger in the consulting detective's general direction, "You have issues."


End file.
